


the creek ran free when the creek ran dry

by eneiryu



Series: mistakes aren't always regrets [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, When The Meaning of Home May Have Changed, and what that means, coming home, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eneiryu/pseuds/eneiryu
Summary: It’s weird being back in the Hewitt household, after everything.
Relationships: Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt
Series: mistakes aren't always regrets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642510
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	the creek ran free when the creek ran dry

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Day 2 of incredibly smutty sequels week! Apparently I am going to survive this quarantine with _porn_. Much like, I assume, most of these characters would in this current global crisis.

Mason’s room hasn’t changed at all.

It’s the first thing Corey thinks when he and Mason step inside, their hands full of the ratty duffels that Corey had hurriedly packed handfuls of random clothing into the night he’d taken Mason and fled. Corey doesn’t know why it’s a surprise to him but it _is_ ; apparently Mason’s parents had barely touched the place, even with the frantic manhunt that they’d kicked off in the first few days of Mason’s disappearance. 

But then again, the Sheriff wouldn’t have needed to search Mason’s room, not like that; he’d had Scott and Derek and Malia and Theo to search in other ways, better ways. 

“Hey,” Mason says quietly, breaking into Corey’s thoughts. “You okay?”

The thing is, Mason asking is _different_ , now. Before at least when he’d ask _you okay_ , Corey could at least _try_ to lie. Mason had never bought it, even then, but he could try it. But Mason _knows_ , now, has the same kind of pressure tucked up tight at the base of his skull just like Corey does, like Theo does. So Corey just turns his lips upwards in an unconvincing flicker of a smile, and shrugs.

Downstairs Mason’s parents are puttering around, not loud so much as distractingly _present_. Corey had gotten so used to the silence in the vacation home they’d squatted in, just him and Mason and Theo, occasionally; the three of them in the little universe that they’d carved out for themselves, connected like a constellation with the omnipresent awareness of each other that now lives at the base of their brains; at the top of their spines. The sound of Mason’s parents’ footsteps feels like an intrusion, somehow; an invasion.

“Hey,” Mason says. “Hey, c’mere.”

He wraps his hand gently around Corey’s wrist, and tugs. But it’s not the physical pull that sends Corey stumbling forward, but the mental; that pressure at the base of his skull flaring. There’s no way Mason had realized that he’d done it, or he would be all apologies; Corey had seen him beg forgiveness from Theo more times than he could count, the times that Theo would snap _stop that_ and dig irritated fingers into the tight muscles at the back of his neck. 

Mason sits on the edge of his bed, and so Corey does, too.

“What is it?” Mason murmurs, and reaches forward to cradle Corey’s face between his hands. 

There’s just the slightest bit of ghostly blue in his eyes, lining the very edges of his irises. Corey stares at it for just a second, and then squeezes his own eyes shut. “It’s just,” he starts, and grimaces. “Everything is so _loud_. You don’t—you don’t think it’s _loud?_ ”

Mason doesn’t say anything, immediately, and Corey cracks one eye helplessly open. When he meets Mason’s gaze, Mason is just studying him, careful and deliberate and _focused_ , and not just on his face; Corey feels that pressure at the base of his skull twist, languidly, and then start to reach delicate tendrils of sensation out through his spine, his limbs. He sucks in a startled breath.

The sensation stops almost as soon as it’d started. “Sorry,” Mason stammers immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

He cuts off, and stands suddenly. Corey tries to catch him with a distressed noise but Mason just hums a soothing sound right back, and trots over to his bedroom door before swinging it quietly shut; he turns the knob as he does it, too, so that the latch closes silently; silently. Corey swallows.

“Hey,” Mason whispers, as he returns to the bed. He also reaches out, and puts his hands back around Corey’s face, and then leans down to press their foreheads together. 

Corey leans up into it, helpless and grateful, and presses his lips hard to Mason’s when Mason tips his face down to kiss him. Mason hums again, and then turns his face to the side to press his lips to Corey’s cheek, to his temple; to the corner of his eye. But it isn’t until Mason slides his hands back from cradling Corey’s face to his ears, pressing his palms over them, that Corey’s breath hitches in his chest. 

“Hey,” Mason says, and starts encouraging him to lay down with gentle pressure against his skull, his palms lifted just enough to let Corey hear him. “Hey, lie down.”

Corey lies down.

Mason follows him, his hands never leaving Corey’s ears. He gets one knee up on the bed as Corey starts to tip sideways, and folds onto his hip as Corey falls carefully over, so that when Corey’s side hits the mattress, Mason’s does, too. Corey looks back at him as Mason studies his face, and then he closes his eyes as Mason leans slowly forward and presses their lips together.

As Mason presses their lips together, and seals his hands back over Corey’s ears.

Corey gasps, but he can barely hear it. It’s smothered by Mason’s mouth against his and muffled by Mason’s palms over his ears, and Corey feels his eyes squeeze reflexively back shut, the corners of them starting to burn. “It’s okay,” Mason murmurs against his lips, Corey almost _feeling_ him say it more than _hearing_ him say it. “It’s okay,” he promises, and presses forward so that he starts to roll Corey over onto his back, his mouth never leaving Corey’s lips and his hands never leaving Corey’s ears.

 _Please_ , Corey thinks, and has no idea what he’s asking for, but. _Please_ , he pleads, and doesn’t realize he’s reached out with more than just his thoughts until he feels Mason shudder against him, and feels—feels something like a thin tendril of sensation shudder in sympathetic response, electric like he’d—like he’d somehow reached out and touched that place at the base of Mason’s skull where he knows that he lives, that Theo lives. That the three of them live together, all tangled up; inseparable. 

His eyes slide open and he finds himself staring up at Mason, whose irises are fully pale blue, now, ghostly and glowing. Mason stares back at him, and then he gives the slightest hint of a snarl—that pressure that lives at the base of Corey’s own skull flaring—and dives back in.

Corey moans, helplessly, as Mason’s tongue strokes into his mouth, and then moans again when he hears the muffled sound of his first, still fuzzy and indistinct through the covers of Mason’s hands still over his ears. Even as he brings his hands up to clutch at Mason’s shirt, slides his knees up to cradle Mason’s hips, all he can hear is the desperate sound of his own breathing and the slick slide of Mason’s tongue and lips against his own, the rest of it blocked out by Mason’s palms. Mason bites off another snarl, and presses harder against him, mouth and chest and hips and thighs. 

_Oh_ , Corey thinks, shuddering. “Oh,” he gasps, but it’s soundless; swallowed by Mason’s lips. He clutches his hands harder in the back of Mason’s shirt, and grinds harder up against Mason’s hips between his legs, and shudders _again_ when he feels Mason’s hard cock drag against his own, even through all their clothes. 

Mason rears back, suddenly, his ghostly flared eyes wild as he stares down at Corey, panting and open-mouthed. His hands are still around Corey’s ears, muffling every sound that isn’t _him_ , and Corey suddenly understands his indecision. _I’m okay_ , he thinks, desperate but unable to say it, the silence around them like a spell that he doesn’t want to break. _I’m okay_ , he thinks again, but then—then he stops _thinking_ it, and closes his eyes and concentrates on _feeling_ it; on feeding it to that pressure at the base of his skull, at pushing that _out_ , out towards Mason hovering above him.

Mason sucks in a sharp breath; Corey feels it in Mason’s body against his own. 

He also raises his arms up, so that his biceps are pressed against Mason’s palms still pressed to his ears. Mason stares down at him, wide-eyed but _intent_ , and then he seems to get it; he slides his hands away, and lets Corey’s own biceps take their places, flush against Corey’s own ears.

 _Please_ , he thinks— _feels_ —at Mason. _Please_ , he mouths, and can’t help arching up against Mason still kneeling between his spread legs. 

Mason stares at him a second longer, and then scrambles backwards, and reaches for his shirt. 

Corey wants to watch but he _can’t_ , his eyes squeezing shut and his head tipping back as he presses his arms harder against the sides of his head; against his ears. If Mason’s parents are still moving around downstairs Corey can’t hear them. If they’ve turned on the living room television, or started banging around in the kitchen, or talking in their quiet, low voices, Corey _can’t hear them_. He sinks into that silence, and the awareness of Mason—and Theo, somewhere farther away—tucked up tight at the base of his skull, and lets the rest of it fall away.

But his eyes snap back open when the mattress dips again, and he looks down at Mason kneeling his way back onto the bed. He’s fully naked, now, his cock hard and flushed between his thighs, and Corey bites back a whimper that he can barely hear, and feels his hips thrust up once more against empty air. 

Mason bites his lip, one hand coming to rest on the inside of one of Corey’s thighs, just to the side of the bulge of Corey’s cock still trapped in his jeans, and then he apparently makes a decision; he reaches forward, and starts undoing Corey’s pants, and unzipping them.

Once he’s pulled them off—Corey lifting his hips to help—Mason climbs back onto the bed. This time he climbs _over_ Corey’s hips, his knees landing on either side of Corey’s ribs. At that point he stops, and looks thoughtfully down at Corey’s shirt, his fingers spider-walking across it and bunching the fabric just a little, just a deliberate bit, as he goes, but he stops when Corey shifts. He glances up at Corey and Corey shakes his head, a little frantic, his biceps still pressed to his ears. 

_No_ , Corey thinks; _feels_. _No_ , he mouths. He can’t bear the thought of having to take his arms away from his ears—of having the outside world come spilling back in—just to get the flimsy fabric out of the way. Mason stares at him for a little longer, and then he nods, sharply. 

But that still leaves him sitting astride Corey’s chest, Corey’s arms for all intents and purposes trapped and out of the way, and Corey can see the second his eyes—his still flared, ghostly blue eyes—flicker down to Corey’s mouth. _Yes_ , Corey thinks. _Yes,_ please _,_ he can _feel_ himself begging, and then he has to stop and shudder out a rough, soundless cry when he feels his own sharp arousal rebound back at him, fed to raging by Mason’s own. 

One of Mason’s hands slams down next to his head, and then Mason’s other slides gently—so very _gently_ —into his hair. Corey opens his mouth, and can’t stop his moan from vibrating against Mason’s skin as Mason starts to feed his cock between Corey’s lips.

Mason’s fingers tighten in his hair, their tips taking on just a hint of supernatural sharpness before the pricking pressure of them turns blunt again. Corey shudders and presses back harder into his grip, before leaning forward as best he can to slide his lips further down around Mason’s cock; to take him deeper, and then deeper, into his mouth. 

But the position’s awkward, and inescapably complicated by Corey’s bent arms in the way. Corey groans in frustration—and Mason bites off a shout above him—and pulls back, letting Mason’s cock slip free of his mouth. Mason stares down at him for a few seconds, panting and glazed-eyed, and then his gaze sharpens, and he reaches forward to slide just the barest tips of his fingers in between Corey’s arms and his temples. Corey’s eyes widen as he understands, and he lets his arms fall away just as Mason darts his hands the rest of the way forward, his palms once more covering Corey’s ears and his fingers threading through the hair at the back of Corey’s skull.

The new position means that Corey can reach around and get one hand around Mason’s cock and hold it steady as Mason takes advantage to shift further up on the bed, over Corey’s still-clothed shoulders; as Mason takes advantage, and slowly guides Corey’s head upwards as Corey takes him back in his mouth.

This time it _works_. Corey can’t hear his own desperate moan, the sound of it smothered by his full mouth and muffled by Mason’s guiding hands still covering his ears, but the realization barely _registers_ , he’s so focused on the slide of Mason between his lips, and the taste of him on his tongue. 

Still, he can only get so deep, even with Mason’s hands doing their best to help, and after a while Corey groans, and slides his own hands—which had settled on either side of Mason’s waist—back around to his ass, and _presses_ forward. Mason gives a surprised jerk—though he manages to stop himself before he would have accidentally choked Corey—and then stops. He also squeezes his hands around Corey’s head, just once; just a brief pressure.

Corey slides his eyes open, and looks up.

Mason shudders when their eyes meet, apparently caught by the sight of his cock still buried in Corey’s mouth, but then he gives his head a visible little shake, and then tips it to the side. Corey understands immediately what he’s asking; he tightens his fingers around Mason’s ass, and encourages him forward again; encourages him forward _harder_.

Mason lets out a quiet moan—Corey _seeing_ it, more than hearing it, his ears still muffled by Mason’s hands—and gives a tiny, tentative thrust.

When Corey doesn’t complain—when Corey presses him forward _again_ —he does it a second time, a little deeper. A third time, a little deeper. He keeps going, testing and testing until the time Corey _does_ gag a little, and then he pulls back, just enough, and thrusts back in just at Corey’s apparent limit. Corey whimpers, and feels his own hips thrust up against empty air.

He can tell when Mason gets close because his thighs start to tremble against Corey’s shoulders. Corey can already anticipate Mason’s next move, and when Mason goes to pull back he tightens his fingers around Mason’s ass, and doesn’t let him; Mason’s hands nearly fall off his ears as he jerks in surprise, but he steadies himself, and keeps them where they are.

 _Please_ , Corey thinks, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. _Please, please, please_.

Mason starts moving again.

When he comes, his fingers tighten _hard_ around Corey’s head, and this time there’s more than a hint of supernatural sharpness to his nails. But Corey just moans, and swallows, feeling Mason’s cock twitch on his tongue and his thighs twitch against his shoulders, his ass flexing and flexing in Corey’s hands. He keeps holding him for several long, dragging seconds as Mason stays frozen above him, his soundless cries obvious in the way they translate through his whole body, until finally Mason slumps down over him, his softening cock slipping free of Corey’s mouth. 

His fingers are trembling now against Corey’s ears, and so Corey brings his own hands up to cover Mason’s, and press them gently, gently against his own skull; Mason huffs out a quiet sound against the top of his head, and slowly shifts so that he’s lying stretched out alongside Corey, instead of kneeling above him. 

He also slowly takes his hands away—giving Corey more than enough time to replace them with his own—as he leans forward, and kisses him, slow and deep and lingering. Corey feels all the tension in his body shuddering loose of his bones as Mason does it, his body slumping loose-limbed and languid against the mattress, even as he keeps his hands pressed to his ears.

Except.

Except part of him is still _very_ tense, and only gets more tense when Mason starts trailing his fingers lightly down Corey’s still-clothed chest, stopping only to roll one pebbled nipple between his fingers over the fabric of his shirt before continuing to drift downwards. Corey’s hips are thrusting up even before Mason’s hand reaches his cock, desperate and hard and _wanting_. He whimpers as Mason wraps his fingers around him, and Mason shushes him gently, pulling back to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He also pulls back, after, bracing himself up on one elbow and looking down at Corey as he starts to stroke his hand, slow and deliberate and twisting on the upstroke to gather the wetness at the tip of Corey’s cock, slick it back down the length of him. There’s a question in his eyes but even if there _wasn’t_ , Corey can feel the hum of it vibrating along the base of his skull, and so he lunges up, and captures Mason’s mouth again—maneuvering carefully so that his bent elbow slides seamlessly over Mason’s shoulder—to draw him back down again; answering silently, and best he knows how.

Mason must understand, because he tightens his hand around Corey’s cock, and starts to _stroke_. 

He keeps kissing Corey as he does it. Or he tries to, anyway, but almost immediately Corey has to break away, panting, his eyes screwing shut at the pleasure pooling low and then winching tighter in his gut with every one of Mason’s upstrokes and twisting downstrokes. Mason doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps pressing kisses to the corner of his lips, his cheekbone, his brow, all the while keeping his hand moving, moving, moving. 

Eventually the pressure in his gut winches tight enough that Corey knows he’s about to come. His thighs fall even wider open as his back bows, and he turns his face to the side, pressing his forehead against Mason’s as his orgasm shudders loose of his body, his cock starting to jerk in Mason’s hand even as Mason keeps working him through it, pumping and pumping until finally Corey’s hips twitch, his whole body feeling over-sensitive, and Mason takes his hand away without prompting. 

But he doesn’t take it _far_ , just trails it back up the now-wet stretch of Corey’s shirt until he can press his curled knuckles up underneath Corey’s jaw, use them to encourage Corey’s face up, up, so that Mason can kiss him. Corey follows the pressure, and opens his mouth for Mason’s tongue, and lets—lets his hands fall away from his ears.

Mason makes a questioning noise, and pulls back. Corey just smiles sleepily up at him. 

Mason smiles reflexively back, but his expression still flickers with uncertainty as he reaches the fingers of that same hand forward, and traces them around Corey’s brow, his temple. “How’s—how’s everything _now?_ ” He asks softly. “Still—still loud?”

Corey shakes his head. “No,” he mumbles. “No, it’s—it’s quiet. It’s, it’s perfectly,” he turns his face into Mason’s hand, and closes his eyes as he presses against his fingers, “perfectly quiet.”

Mason smiles again, wide and warm and with no uncertainty at all this time, and uses those same fingers to tip Corey’s face back towards him so he can kiss Corey again, close-mouthed and firm, like a statement; like punctuation. “Good,” he murmurs, and then pushes himself up.

Corey stays right where he is while Mason moves around, gathering up their clothes and slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a thin, ratty t-shirt, and then bringing a second set of sweats and shirt over to Corey. _Then_ Corey grumbles out an easy, fond protest as Mason starts to tug at the wet-and-soiled shirt he’s still wearing, deliberately making it more difficult than it needs to be as Mason tries to maneuver it off of him. Mason rolls his eyes and huffs and laughs, and kisses him when he finally gets the shirt over Corey’s head, Corey leaving his arms splayed-up and boneless over his head.

“C’mon, lazy bones,” Mason murmurs as he pulls back, his eyes crinkled up at the corners with his smile. “Help me get you dressed.”

Corey smiles back, and darts up to kiss him, quick and fond, and then sits up to start pulling on the clothes Mason brought him.

They trade turns getting ready for bed. Corey stops in the hallway, caught by the sounds of Mason’s parents murmuring quietly to themselves in their bedroom one floor down, and finds himself smiling, one hand on the hallway wall. He turns his face a little further against the plaster to hide it, and then keeps going, trotting the rest of the way to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

When he makes it back into Mason’s room, Mason is just sliding under the covers of his bed. Corey grins and jumps on the bed onto his knees, cackling when Mason flails a little in surprise and tangles himself up in the bedspread. By the time Mason has managed to untangle himself, Corey has crawled under the blankets with him, and curled up against his side. 

“Hi,” he says, when Mason blinks down at him.

“Hi,” Mason greets, bemused, and then he jolts, a little. “Oh, we should set an alarm. Deaton wanted me to come by so he could run those last tests, make sure the—the shift,” he says it awkwardly enough that Corey’s _sure_ he was going to say _the Beast_ , “has settled, and all.”

“Mmm,” Corey hums, closing his eyes. “Good idea.”

He grumbles a little when Mason shifts underneath him, Mason reaching for his phone left on his nightstand. Mason runs a soothing hand down his back, the dark of the room lighting up with the glare from his screen as he activates his phone.

And then he bursts out laughing.

Corey rockets up, startled. “What?” He demands. “What is it?”

Mason’s laughing too hard to explain properly. He shoves the phone at Corey instead, still guffawing. Frowning, Corey takes it and looks down at it, and frowns harder as he realizes he’s looking at his and Mason’s and Theo’s group text thread. He starts to read, and almost immediately has to slap a hand over his mouth as he starts to laugh, too.

_**Theo Raeken:** _ **__**_Not that I’m not thrilled that you’re both feeling better_

_**Theo Raeken:** But maybe next time you can CLOSE OFF THE GODDAMN CONNECTION FIRST_

“Oh, oh my god,” Mason wheezes, tears of laughter streaming down his face. “Oh my god,” he swipes the phone back from Corey, and types a reply quickly back. Corey frowns, and swipes the phone back from his unresisting hand, and looks down at what Mason had written.

_**Mason Hewitt:** Oh my god, we’re so sorry_

Corey just grins, and types out _another_ reply, and then throws the phone to the side as he tackles Mason, still laughing, back flat, and kisses him. 

In the corner of the room, the phone stays lit up for a few seconds, and then the screen darkens, and then locks, just as Corey’s reply finishes sending. 

_**Mason Hewitt:** No we’re not_

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for Day 3 of apparently-smutty-sequels week, which will be the companion fic to this in which Theo is _very annoyed_ at being made an accidental mental voyeur. At least until, you know, Liam helps him be _less_ annoyed about it.
> 
> All feed back loved! If you liked, please consider a comment or a [reblog](https://eneiryu.tumblr.com/post/614137669228904448/the-creek-ran-free-when-the-creek-ran-dry)!


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